A Storm that Once Was
by Kenjiro Minami
Summary: Atticus is a loner on the streets of a Twoleg city. He never knew his parents, but he remembers the day he lost them. These memories are resurfaced when a storm hits that was much like the one that took his parents from him. Follow him as he unwillingly revisits that memory. (One-shot)


**Hello again! Yes, so many new stories and updates these past few weeks! Amazing, right? I think so. This one's probably going to be a one-shot, but... We'll see! x3**

 **Anyways! Onto la storeh.**

 **...**

Atticus scrambled up, startled awake by a clap of thunder above head. The blue-gray seven moon tom had his pale blue eyes wide open, darting around even though they saw naught. Water dripped onto his head, leaking from the poorly constructed wooden thing that he slept in. Few monsters were heard prowling the hard path outside the pathetic den the young tom called home. Shivering, the blue-gray tom curled up again, and closed his blind blue eyes, trying to fall back to sleep.

He used to have a better home, a nicer home, though he remembered it not. He only remembered tidbits and scents. Always scents. He couldn't see anything while he used to live there. He'd never been able to see. But he remembered the scents. He loved the scents. But why did he love them?

Sighing, the tom fell back to sleep, bones cold, muscles aching, and stomach rumbling.

...

" _Atticus..._ ," a soft voice murmured in thought. "Yes... yes, I quite like that name..."

Another cat purred in response. "It's perfect for him," the purring cat mewed, voice deep and rumbly, different and distinguishable between the first voice that had spoken, which had been light and feathery.

The kit in name let out a small mewl and pushed on its mothers stomach, trying to get more milk from it. The two parents chuckled.

"I'll leave you two be, now," the deep voiced one mewed. The other purred, and paw steps were heard retreating.

A clap of thunder-

...

Atticus squeezed his eyes shut tighter, remembering that frightening noise as clear as day. Maybe he was remembering it because that very sound was above head right now, and it triggered a memory of one of the most traumatic points of his life. Or... maybe he was dying. Maybe that's why he remembered it. Either way, the blind blue-gray tom tried to push the memory out of his mind, trying to get back to sleep again and not let the noises of nature ruin his slumber, however long that may be.

...

A clap of thunder sounded outside the den the small kit and its sweet-scented mother were in. The den smelt musty, accompanied by a smell of some kind of poop mixed with water. It smelt like rotting wood and new wood, and if one was not used to it, it could become quite nauseating. But the kit had been born in there, so he was used to it, as was his mother, birthed in that den as well and living there her entire life. She knew the large den like she knew her fur, the fur that the kit could not see, for he had yet to open his eyes. But, even if things hadn't turned out the way they had, he still would not have seen the beautiful fur of his mother, the rich, dark brown base with a lick of white around her left eye and a dash of cream on the tip of her tail. He wouldn't have known that, but he would have become familiar with her scent, over time, if things had lasted that long. But, alas, they had not.

Another clap of thunder, this one closer.

...

Atticus opened his eyes once more, giving up on sleeping and standing so he may pace his rotting, crumbling, soaked wooden den, the memories of his first day alive still haunting his mind and growing ever the more vivid the louder and closer the thunder got above his measly den. The blue-gray tom whimpered, nosing around the corner where he put his fresh prey, but it was empty, the rats, squirrels, and birds in the Twolegs place having had hid just before the storm started, leaving the blue-gray tom ever the more hungry. He whimpered again, and thought he might as well leave the wooden den to search for any prey stupid enough to be in this storm.

Sighing, the blue-gray tom left his den, stumbling out into the downpour outside, thundering rolling overhead.

...

"Atticus!" a cat screamed. "Save him!"

The three days old kit was suddenly ripped away from the belly of its mother, ripped away to feel exposed and cold. It let out a weak mewl of complaint, and another, and another, only stopping when something picked it up.

"Don't worry, my boy," the thing carrying him huffed. The deep voice from earlier. "I've got you."

The little kit felt something wet slosh at his elevated rear, licking, sucking, trying to pull him away from the thing carrying him. The tom-kit let out a pathetic whimper and tried to curl up into a better ball in an attempt to escape from the water, but it just rose with him. The thing carrying him grunted and struggled to push forward towards safety. The loud booms were directly overhead, now, shaking the large, musty den with each thunderous roar. Something struck the corner of the building, and it suddenly caved in on itself, crumbling and exposing more of the den to the elements intruding upon it from the outside. A creature in the corner let out a scream before a big splash sounded, the debris landing in the water and bringing the mighty, musty creature down with it.

The tiny blue-gray tom-kit was jostled around in the creature carrying him jaws', and suddenly he was soaked to the bone, plunged into the water. He remained there, still trapped in the jaws of the creature behind him, until he wasn't. He got tossed up onto a wooden slab that had fallen from the roof above, a wooden slab that had crushed the mighty creature that lived with him and would whinny occasionally in its corner whenever the kit had crawled too far from its mother trying to find her tit again so he could feed. That creature was gone. But to where?

"What are you doing?!" The soft voice from earlier. "Zack, what are you doing?!"

"I'm saving him, Lily!" The deep voice that was carrying him. "We aren't going to make it. We're too heavy! I just tried. We aren't going to make it."

The soft voice let out a small whimper before letting out an awful cry. "How do you know he's going to make it, Zack? H-how?"

"You must have faith, Lily. It's the only chance he has."

The female cat sniffled, and the large one let out a small sigh. He grunted and gave the debris his kit was floating on a hefty shove to dislodge it from the rest, the water rising closer and closer to his muzzle. His mate let out a screech and was suddenly under the water at the same moment their kit was clear of it, swirling on his debris. Another screech sounded, and both the blue-gray kits parents were no more.

Instinct kicked in, and the kit dug his claws into the piece of wood. He didn't notice himself shivering. He didn't notice his hunger. All he noticed was his sudden fear, the realization that he'd never have the warm milk again, the screeches of his drowned parents ringing in his ears.

...

Atticus stopped where he was standing and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get the screeches out of his mind. "Go away, go away, go away," he hissed to the sounds echoing from his past. "You're not _real_ anymore. Just go away!"

...

The kit was cold. Frozen. The storm had calmed, and he was now left swirling on the debris of his old home in the river that had destroyed his life. The kit was hungry. Mewling. Pathetic. He was about to die.

A terrible, mournful yowling could be heard further down, rising above the roar of the elevated river. It called out to the skies, crying for the loss of family. "My kits! Oh, my kits!" The voice cried. "I'm so sorry!"

The tiny blue-gray kit on the debris didn't understand the mournful cry, though. It just recognized it as the cry of a cat. It let out a tiny yowl in response, and, suddenly, the yowling stopped. The tiny kit yowled again, and again and again, until a splash sounded, and something came over to stop his journey in the river. With a grunt, the other cat got halfway up on the blue-gray tom-kits debris and grabbed him by the scruff. The cat lifted him off the debris, the kit sniffing the air and shivering. He smelt something sweet on the cat carrying him. Milk. This cat was a mother.

He let out a hungry mewl.

"It's okay, little one," the cat carrying him mewed, sounding joyous that she had found him. "I've got you. Thistleheart's got you..."

...

"Atticus!" A voice called out to the tom. He turned around to 'look' in the direction of the voice.

"...Yes?"

A small cat bounded up to him, splashing on the hard stone benath. "I've brought you some food! Momma said you probably didn't get any before the storm struck, so she told me to bring some to you."

Atticus let out a small purr. "Very intuitive of her. What'd you bring?"

"A shrew!"

"Ooo... That's my favorite."

"I know! Momma also thinks you need someplace to stay."

"...Does she really?"

The small cat hesitated. "Urk... No... I just saw your home, though, or at least where it should be, and there's nothing left of it worth living in..."

The blue-gray tom's heart sank at that. "...Oh."

"But, um... That's okay! You can come live with us for a little while until the storm passes!"

"Thank you, Tiny. Would you mind showing me where it is, again?"

"Of course! It's right this way!" The tiny cat picked the shrew back up off the ground, rested her tail on Atticus' shoulder, and led him away, out of the storm that had brought back those dreadful memories of a time that once was.

 **...**

 **Bloop! :V**


End file.
